The epic Bill Belichick-Jim Caldwell blood feud is renewed in this, a contest bound to be sorely lacking in superlatives about the quarterbacks involved. But there are so many other intriguing storylines aside from the obvious QB comparison. Is it Laurence Maroney or is it Joseph Addai who is more generally useless? Can Austin Collie’s grittiness unseat Welkah’s on this grand primetime stage? Will Caldwell ever forgive Dwight Freeney for not employing his many spins as a running back at Wake Forest? Why won’t we ever give the Meast to Peyton?

These questions and more will be quickly brushed aside in favor of dick jokes, soft porn and making light of the reinforced stereotypes in that “Precious” movie.

This week we’re highlighting the very obscure, totally non-showcase match-up between Peyton Manning and Tom Brady. I doubt any NFL-related TV shows will explore this particular angle of the Colts-Patriots game on Sunday, so it’s good that we are.

Pey-Pey and Dreamboat have met in a lot of big games this decade, so they have a “rivalry” even though I doubt there is any actual animosity between the two of them. Brady has won most of the contests, but Peyton has had the advantage the last few years. They’re both really good and shoo-in Hall of Famers.

Peyton is a robot who gesticulates too much at the line of scrimmage and, according to Peter King, is possessed of anal traits. Early in his career, it was fun to mock him for being without a championship and gay for Kenny Chesney. But then he went and won a title while the Chesney jokes got old. Now he’s just a really good quarterback who appears in a lot of commercials. The worst I can say about him is that Colts fans, even though Peyton has won multiple MVP awards and is generally thought to be the face of the league, act as though he’s somehow ignored and underappreciated. Because they’re all Midwestern diptards with nothing else in their lives, but that’s not really Peyton’s fault, is it?

Tom Brady is a smug asshole, but then he leads an almost cartoonishly perfect life. Would you or I be unbearable were we lavished with such gifts? Probably. I’m already kind of a dick and I don’t have anything on Brady. As quietly as one can do something on the overexposed Patriots, Brady has “quietly” returned to his dominating pre-injury form in the last few weeks, regaining the timing with Randy Moss that was clearly missing in the Pats first few games. That doesn’t make him or his fans, many of whom wanted Brady traded last year then complained that he wasn’t traded when he struggled some out of the gate this year, any less obnoxious. He cheated on Bridget Moynahan, he wears Yankees hats in public while he plays for a Boston (er, sorry, “New England”) team, earlier this year he blew off the Matron Saint when she tried to get a post-game quote from him. He’s a dick. You can nail him and Pats fans for the Spygate and 18-1 stuff, but then the amount of irrational hate the Steelers have received in the last year has actually made me identify with the Massholes some. Did I actually write that? Oh well.

I think the first time Peyton and Brady ever met kind of captures their respective personalities perfectly.

Already a two-time Pro Bowler, Manning nevertheless introduced himself: “I’m Peyton Manning.”

“And I said, ‘No (expletive),’ ” Brady said yesterday, laughing. “We were both getting warmed up and he was probably on his 100th throw of the day, two hours before the game. It was a pretty quick meeting.”

Robot, meet dickhead.

Those dastardly heavy-breathing sneakabouts in Indianapolis are at it again! First, they steal the Colts from Baltimore. Now, because of an injury to Adam Nougatieri (injuries don’t make chompions, Adam) they have signed Greatest Raven Ever Matt Stover. Is there nothing they won’t take from Baltimore? I mean, other than black people. Those Indy can do without.

This afternoon we have another edition of the sporadic “Inside a Tailgate” series. It’s a feature that gives you insight into some of the goings-on with fans around the league. And it gives us a chance to count a YouTube video as a post. Nice.

00:01 – Chubs tells “Reggie Wane” that he will handle the introduction duties. I’ve just seen this guy, but I have always been able to make snap judgments about people. I predict this guy will open his introduction with some Proust before making a dry self-deprecating observation on the human condition. That, or quoting Stone Cold Steve Austin. It could go either way.

0:03 – Hitch up you sweatpants, Bulbous Fett.

0:08 – Waiting for his cue… Biscuits ‘n’ Gravy here is used to working with professionals. Give his ass a countdown, you clod.

0:10 – “HEY! WE’RE COLTS FANS!” This is your brilliant introduction? This is the least expository introduction in the history of introducing stuff. Christ, this thing is already going downhill.

0:16 – Now he introduces Shawne Merriman, “defensive player for the Chargers”. Dude, if we don’t already know who he is, your impression is kind of pointless.

0:20 – This guy seems to shortchanging Merriman’s surname by a full syllable– pronouncing it ‘Merman’. It seems they fear this Mer-Man and thinks he intends to drag them before King Poseidon and his briny palace in Atlantis.

0:24 – Two days later, he moaned and flopped in precisely the same manner when the EMT administered the defibrillator.

0:31 – “RETARD….OUT!” He says it like that’s his end communication signal.

0:36 – At first I thought it was a novelty helmet, merely festooning his head whimsically before the big game. I know realize he is living with a serious head injury and that thing is a medical necessity under doctor’s orders.

Tard helmet, now in team colors.

It’s that time of year again, when we’re so devoid of content that, rather than spending time covering Romo dumping Jessica Simpson the night before her birthday, we run through our predictably inaccurate prognostications for the upcoming year, division by division. Up first, it’s the AFC South, where you’re either winning, you’re mourning Steve McNair or you’re getting busy freebasing.

(more…)

A be-poloed lad at a Chargers-Colts tailgate has a bit of a problem holding his booze after taking a beer bong hit and goes headfirst into a nearby grill. But marvel at the way a drinking calamity brings out the frenzied best in rival fans, even if that means a cacophony of unhelpful commands. I especially like the suggestion that someone give up the Mandible Claw to induce vomiting. Bonus irony points for “Wrong Way” blasting in the background as the fail plays out.

Marmalard strives to end Tony Dungy’s career a week after ousting Leatherface from Denver. Can San Diego take two games in San Diego in one year? Quite possibly, but Rivers floaters, Tiny Pocket Darren and a barely existent defense stand in their path.

Better win, Indy, or Pey-Pey’s gonna have to yell at some linemen like the true unselfish leader he is.
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Two teams hanging on the fringes of playoff possibility (and the Chargers only because they play in the AFC West) meet for the first time since the Volektricity memorably backed up Marmalard’s vicious taunts of Indy fans in what was the final game ever in the RCA Dome. Now the Colts can effectively end the Chargers season and do a big favor to their own Wild Card aspirations with another road victory over an AFC rival.

But who gives a shit? We demand more cheerleader goodness, NBC. You were so good about it when New England was in town. If I have to deal with the sulking expressions of Dungy, Norval and Pey-Pey with no cheerleader chaser, so help me I’ll switch over to Dexter. I’ll do it! I mean it!

“Yo, this is Joe. Just heard you’re headed back to Naptown. Congratulations, man. We’re going to win another Super Bowl this year, man. But check this, I’m not a rookie like when you left. In fact, up in this bitch here, I am what you call an authority figure. Remember that corner couch at the complex– the one you used to be snoring on and shit between two-a-days? That’s my couch now. Keep your ass off. See how you like trying to sleep in a damn chair. Anyway, see you in a couple months and we will tear it up like the old days.

Oh yeah, and if you ever drink my grape Gatorade again, I’ll beat your ass. TOPPA THE FOOD CHAIN, MOTHERFUCKER!!!”

I have a friend in Indianapolis, and we were discussing the oddities of Tony Dungy’s reluctant return to coach the Colts in 2008. I think “reluctant” is a fair characterization after Bob Irsay installed a slew of unique perks into Dungy’s deal, in terms of time away from the team. As incentive to return, Dungy was granted permission to spend four months in Tampa during the offseason, plus Friday nights during the season to watch his son play high school ball. You know, the one that didn’t kill himself.

My friend, who we’ll call “Jamie,” she and I agreed to as much when she brought the following to my attention (emphasis mine):

I can only imagine [Dungy] wanted to walk – quickly. But we have a new stadium to fill around these parts, and I can’t imagine they were going to let him go prior to its opening season. I do expect him to be gone immediately following. Assuming the thing is completed by the time the season starts. They are WAY behind. I was talking to our former city attorney (our mayor was ousted, so he goes too) on Monday, and he said the roof [is] set wrong. Small detail of a design flaw, so the roof physically will not open or close. Along with a laundry list of other problems, I’d be willing to bet not a single preseason game is played there. Who says we don’t know what we’re doing around here?

To be fair, Jamie can’t bet for shit, but that doesn’t ncessarily discount her inside information. Besides, it’s only 1986 in Indianapolis right now, so they still have 22 years to finish everything on time.